


How Many Siblings Does Dick Grayson Have?

by LadySheik



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: But not in the forseeable future, Detective West in non-binary, Grammarly is my beta, I'm Bad At Tagging, Just a funny dectective oneshot, Might make it into a novel length work someday, Or however that works, So I guess bookmark it if you're interested, Some descriptions of murders?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 00:18:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19139770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySheik/pseuds/LadySheik
Summary: Detective Grayson from Bludhaven Precinct is somehow the most popular detective in Gotham. Detective West isn't really sure why until they meet him.A short one-shot featuring an OC and Dick Grayson. I wrote it for my friend DaughterofMagic3, but I may make it a longer work sometime in the future. Also, I can't find the inspirational post bc it was an anon question and the blog running it is no longer up. Sorry about that.





	How Many Siblings Does Dick Grayson Have?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DaughterofMagic3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterofMagic3/gifts).



> Also before we dive in I just want to let everyone know that I know the bare minimum about everything to do with deeper Batman lore. I can tell the male robins apart by personality and that's about it. So my apologies if I screw anything up, and I'm gonna ask you to just write it off as an AU.

            My head is down in piles of paperwork when the Golden Boy walks in.

            Frankly, it’s unbelievable to me how a detective from another city entirely can somehow be the most popular officer in the precinct, but that’s apparently just how people roll in Gotham. It’s kind of like how every city that isn’t Metropolis is still absolutely in love with Superman, even though he isn’t even there. I guess. I’m still new around here. I mean, when they told me back home that Gotham was an economic hub with tons of jobs, I wasn’t exactly thrilled, given its reputation. But I needed the money, so I packed up and moved down to an epicenter of vigilantes and supervillains who are, to their credit, mostly self-contained. Plus, I mean, the healthcare here? Fucking fantastic.

            I don’t notice Detective Grayson at first. In my own defense, we’ve never actually met – I’ve just heard all about him from the office busybodies. And the interns, God, the interns won’t shut up about him. Or stop showing me pictures. Like, at some point you’d think these college kids would pick up on the fact that I literally could not care less about some man I’ve never met or how cute he looks in his latest Instagram, or Snapchat, or whatever it is attractive people are using to put their faces all over the internet these days.

            Also, when I say “piles” of paperwork, I’m not exaggerating. One of my stacks is three inches all. Granted, it’s not a towering stack that would obscure my vision entirely if I turned my head, but it’s enough to block out my periphery. The fact that these reports were supposed to be on the commissioner’s desk days ago is another pretty good incentive for me to buckle down and do the work instead of chatting with coworkers.

            My thoughts drift as I fill out the reports. I’m pretty good at filling out the crime specifics and details asap so I don’t forget later, meaning that the paperwork is mostly fill-in-the-blanks for things like names and badge numbers, which I am so familiar with it’s like they’re not even real anymore. Part of me wonders where Gotham P.D. gets the money for all the overtime they pay me for. A bigger part tells me to shut up, accept another shift of time-and-a-half pay, and take the fucking check.

            The bigger part of me is very straightforward.

            I’m not even half paying attention to what’s going on around me, so naturally, I jump six feet in the air when some drops into the creaky chair in the desk next to me. A blush spreads across my cheeks as laughter ripples through the office.

            “Woah, there, Nik. Jumpy much?” someone says.

            I don’t respond, too busy squinting at the man in the chair. He’s familiar, with his black hair and blue eyes, and I know that I know who he is. Unfortunately, my sleep-deprived brain can’t connect the dots for shit at the moment. He’s wearing a three-piece suit, which makes me feel underdressed in my button-down with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows and suspenders. Wait a minute, is that suit _Armani_? Precincts pay well, but not _that_ well.

            “I know you,” I say, still squinting at him. My brain has latched onto the _Armani_ fact and is running around in circles shouting it, pleased to have something that’s not my badge number to chant.

            The man smiles at me, and his grin is unnaturally white. “Detective Richard Grayson from Bludhaven. My friends call me Dick, but you can call me whenever you like.”

            I blink at him several times, processing the information. Instead of responding to his flirtations, I simply nod and turn back to my paperwork.

            Several other officers have left their desks and now congregate around Detective Grayson in a loose semi-circle.

            “How’s the family?” Officer Lopez asks. He’s tall and thin as a rail, and fond of reminding everyone that his Mexican born and bred parents have Ph.D.’s and teach at Harvard and Yale.

            My first thought is that there’s no way Grayson is old enough to have a family, but the detective is answering my question before I can ask it. “Yesterday my little brother pulled a knife on me for calling his dog lazy,” he shrugs, propping his feet on the desk behind the one he’s seated at.

            My head jerks up from where it was buried in paperwork, and I’m sure my expression betrays my incredulity. His little brother did _what_?

            Officer Jones laughs, broad shoulders shaking along with his sizeable gut. “Is this the same one that threatened to shoot you for hugging him?”

            Grayson shakes his head, a small smirk painted on his face. “Nah, that’s a different one.”

            Detective Sonovavich looks up from her desk, pale blonde hair framing her face. Her gray eyes are piercing as she raises an eyebrow at Grayson. Even under the fluorescents, she looks like a Russian ice queen, whereas everyone else just looks kind of bleached. “It must be the one that said he’d punch you in the throat if you ever touched his tablet again.”

            Grayson just laughs, still shaking his head. “Nope, different one.”

            Suddenly, it’s not hard to understand why there’s a betting pool with over two hundred dollars on the line as to how many siblings Detective Grayson has.

            The young detective swivels around to face me, chair spinning in several full rotations before he puts both feet on the ground and rests his elbows on his knees. “You’re new.”

            It’s a statement, not a question, but I nod anyways. “Yes, sir, that’s correct.” I glance up at him with both eyebrows raised. “I do hope you’re a better detective than that, though.”

            His lips quirk up on one side, and I can see why half the interns at the precinct are in love with him. “What’s your name, Detective?”

            “West, sir.”

            “Oh, don’t call me sir. Makes me feel old.” He holds out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Detective West.”

            Before I have a chance to shake it, the commissioner steps out of his office. “Detective Grayson,” Gordon says with a level of exhaustion I’ve never seen outside of a college campus. “I thought I asked you to head straight to my office when you got here.”

            “You did,” Grayson replies easily, hand still outstretched.

            “Then why are you out here distracting my staff?”

            Immediately, all the officers head back to their workstations. Those who were still at their desks buried their head a little deeper into whatever they were working on.

            The detective throws up a grin brighter than a floodlight. “Can’t a guy say hello?”

            “Office, please, Grayson.” Gordon sounds even more tired than he did before, and I can’t help but feel sorry for the guy.

            Grayson pulls his hand back and stands, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket as he disappears into Gordon’s office. I lower my head to focus on my paperwork once more when the commissioner when he calls my name.

            “Detective West? Can you come to my office please?” It’s not a request, but Gordon is polite enough to phrase it as one. Gordon has always been polite, without fail. I marvel at his patience.

            I stand up, trying to hide the nerves I’m hiding. “If this is about the reports…” I whisper when he’s close enough to hear my lowered voice.

            He shakes his head. “It’s not.” Gordon’s voice is soft. “We’re all swamped, West. Just do your best, okay?”

            I nod and slip past him into his office. He shuts the door as I take a seat next to Detective Grayson. The other officer looks so relaxed it should be a crime, taking full advantage of the back of the chair and resting one ankle on the opposite knees. The grin Grayson flashes me is filled with white teeth, and I’m starting to think that it’s his trademark expression. I ignore him (as much as one can) and focus on the commissioner’s neat desk and his mostly blank walls. Really, anything that wasn’t the flirtatious detective was a welcome subject of my thorough scrutiny.

            Gordon takes a seat behind the desk and steeples his fingers. “Detective West. How many of the exsanguination cases have you been called out on?”

            I sober up instantly. “All of them. Officers like to keep possible serial murders to one detective. Paperwork’s less confusing, I guess.”

            “And would you mind filling Detective Grayson and I in on the details?” he asks.

            My gaze shifts to Grayson. “In the last three months, we’ve had four exsanguinations, all in different areas of Gotham. One in the financial district, three in some of the seedier areas. They’re almost certainly murders – two puncture wounds in the jugular. Nothing was stolen from any of the victims, and we’re at a loss for motives _and_ suspects.” My mouth twists to the side. “The papers are calling them the ‘vampire slayer.’ I suppose they think themselves very clever.”

            Grayson shrugs. “My city’s calling them ‘Dracula,’ so I think you got the better end of the deal. Victim was a high-profile philanthropist, killed three days ago. Details line up with yours, as you’ve described them.”

            “I want the two of you working this killer,” Gordon says, rubbing his eyes. “West, drop any other active cases you have – we’ll get them assigned to other detectives. I want this case to be your priority.”

            I can’t help but raise my eyebrows. “What’s so special about this murderer?” It’s not uncommon for detectives to follow particularly prominent killers without working other cases on the side, but from what I’ve seen in Gotham, this fish seems like small fry.

            “Gotham has a lot of villains, on both the large and small scale,” Gordon says. “But all the serial killers are well-known, and usually kept in check by the vigilantes.” He eyes Grayson for a minute before looking back at me. “This killer doesn’t fit the MO of any of the villains, and that makes him a wild card. We’re already swamped as it is. I want this killer out of the picture as soon as possible.

            “Grayson, West will help you in any capacity they can. You’re the senior detective, but I want you two working as equals. Don’t screw this up, got it?”

            Grayson nods. “Clear as crystal, sir.”

            “Should we let Mr. Wayne know?” I ask. They both look at me in confusion, and I elaborate. “I mean, the two latest victims were a banker and a philanthropist. It looks to me like the first three murders were just practice runs, to make sure the killer knew what they were doing and how. Logic would follow that Mr. Wayne could be a potential target if the two latest murders are the targets our killer is interested in.” I snap my fingers and point at Grayson. “You should let your siblings know, too. And watch your back, ok? I don’t need you dying on me this early in the case.”

            My partner looks at me with wide blue eyes, and the wrinkles between his eyes make it look like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. His eyes flick to Gordon for a second, who remains impassive. When they focus back on me, he has a smile on his face. “It’s going to be a pleasure working with you, I can tell.” He holds his hand out. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Dick Grayson.”

            I shake his hand. “Nikolai West.”

           


End file.
